#// with tony comparing steve to a vacuum cleaner

[shellheadtm-a]

@shieldslinger​ said ➔ oh, i’m not above a naughty night of debauchery. schitt’s creek starter sentences / accepting

Oh, Lord.  He’s serious, isn’t he?  He’s actually serious.  Look, Tony’s not saying the idea that Steve Rogers (and by extension, Captain America) is some pure paragon of...Of...Chastity and whatever that unicorns would flock to, given the chance, is the right one.  He’s definitely not, he knows better.  Steve knows better.  The point is, there are people that know that this is decidedly untrue.  Steve...Steve definitely has his moments that catch even Tony off guard, Tony will fully admit that.

But at the same time...It’s Steve.  Listen, Tony loves Steve for a lot of reasons.  His courage, his refusal to back down in the face of danger, his need to believe the best in everyone.  His shrewd tactician’s mind.  His ability to see the bigger picture and know who should be where for what outcome.  His ability to rally the troops when all seems lost.  The way he intuitively grasps even Tony’s wildest technobabble ramblings without his eyes glazing over.  His dry sense of humor.  Even his infuriating stubborn streak.  The list literally goes on and on.  There’s a lot to love about Steve, and Tony’s a sucker for each and every reason.

But debauchery ain’t one of them.

And sure, okay, behind closed doors Steve can surprise him.  Get the jump on him.  Is more handsy than he’d have ever actually imagined when it comes right down to it, and it’s fine.  It’s great.  Tony ends up with more hickeys now (and more tactfully placed) than he ever had in his young and dumb late teens and early twenties before the landmine that put shrapnel in his chest, and that’s saying something, right?  It’s honestly surprising, he’s all apple pie and golden boy next door one minute and a literal Dyson the next.

But there are a number of things Steve literally cannot do to save his life.  Flirt.  Dirty talk, most of the time, though he’s been surprisingly savvy picking it up on sexting and Tony wants to know who he needs to give just loads of money to in thanks for that.  The verbal things get him hung up, every single time.  He’s not smooth, and that, in its own way, has a certain kind of charm.

Which is why he promptly snorts coffee right up his nose the second those words are out of Steve’s mouth.  It burns.  It stings.  He’s dying, and he manages to get his coffee cup on the coffee table without dumping it everywhere and without knocking anything in front of him off, and he’s going to count that as a win.  Jesus, everything’s gonna smell like Guatemalan dark roast for the rest of the day.

“Steve.”  And his voice is strangled, as he rubs at his nose with the back of his hand, to wipe away as much of the coffee as he can.  “Jesus, you need to come with a warning label.  You can’t just say things like that.  I could have died.”

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 2/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​  ​Read on AO3

Toddlers are an enigma. That much is clear to Natasha. Compared to infants, they’re leaps and bounds more amusing. But they’re terribly difficult to gauge – they long for independence, yet knowing exactly how much to give without under or overwhelming them is anyone's guess. That limbo in particular is one of the more complicated aspects of parenting she’s learning to navigate, both emotionally and logistically. For as much as she’s excited to see what else is to come of Isabel’s burgeoning personality, there are days where she finds herself longing for the little cuddle bug who willingly gave her its complete cooperation without so much as a peep. And right now, as she sits on the play mat in her living room trying to get a sweater over her squirming daughter’s head, she notes that today happens to be one of those days.  

“Mama, ‘nuff!” she hears Isabel protest, her voice muffled by the soft cotton.

“Almost done, fig,” she says as she successfully gets Isabel’s head through the collar. “Tada!” Despite her enthusiasm, Isabel does not look the least bit amused, and as she leans forward to try to smooth the curls on her head that got ruffled in the process, the little girl dodges her hand with artful precision to reach for her blocks. With a shake of her head, she feels for her phone behind her, holding it up to point the camera at Isabel. “Okay, what do you think of this one?”

On screen, Pepper can only sigh. “It looks great. As did the first two sweaters you put on her.”

“But this one is cuter,” she reasons, zooming in on the embroidered flowers at the hem. “Look!”

“Nat,” Pepper says, her lips pressing into a line. “She’s spending the day with her father, not going to meet the Queen.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” she says. “This is London, after all. You never know when you’ll run into Her Majesty.”

“Natasha.” Pepper’s stern tone causes her to bite her lip, and when she musters the courage to look back at the screen, she finds her best friend regarding her carefully. “Are you having second thoughts about letting Steve come out to visit?”

“No,” she says, sighing at the way Pepper narrows her eyes. “I’m not, okay? And even if I was, it’s too late anyway. He’s literally on his way. It’s just- It’s not like there’s protocol for spending Christmas with your…” She puts her hand out, as if doing so would make the end of her sentence magically come to mind. But when you ask someone to have a child with you, and you end up falling in love with them, only for them to break your heart into a million little pieces later on when they don’t reciprocate your feelings, knowing what to accurately call them is complicated, to say the least. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s just unconventional, is what I’m saying.” Pepper’s lips part to speak, no doubt about her ironic choice of adjective, so she holds up a finger before she can. “Not a word.”

“Okay, okay,” Pepper acquiesces. “Just wanted to make sure that weirdness is the only reason you put my goddaughter through three outfit changes and not… other things.”    

“Trust me, Pep, those other things have been pushed so far back into the closet they’re in Narnia,” she says quietly. All her worries that night Steve had sent her a text turned out to be for nothing. She’d expected something big and life-altering, maybe news that he’d moved on and he wanted Isabel there for his wedding, but as it turned out, it was only a request to spend Christmas with them. “Anyway, it does not matter how weirded out I am by the circumstances. I got hurt... Maybe he did, too.” She lets her eyes linger to the mat where Isabel is still happily entertaining herself before shaking her head. “But that’s all water under the bridge now, and when possible, our daughter deserves to be with both her parents for Christmas. That’s why I agreed to this.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for being so mature about all this,” Pepper says. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It is what it is,” she says dismissively, giving Pepper a one-shouldered shrug. It’s only when the doorbell rings that her brave façade slips, her eyes widening involuntarily.  

“It’ll be fine, Nat,” Pepper says, offering her a reassuring smile. “Talk to you soon.”

With a two-fingered salute, she cuts the video, placing her phone in her back pocket and stealing another glance at Isabel to make sure she’s sufficiently preoccupied. Satisfied, she huffs out a breath and gives her reflection a cursory glance at the mirror, tucking a tendril of hair back as she makes her way to the front door. She reaches for the knob, putting on her best smile as she pulls it open.

“Hey,” Steve greets, smiling brightly as he stands at her front door dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket.

“You shaved,” she blurts out, inwardly cursing at how quickly the words had fallen out of her mouth.

To her relief, he chuckles. “Oh yeah,” he says, reaching a hand up to his jaw. “I grew it out again for a bit there, but I know Izzie’s not a fan of it, so…”

“She might be a little more amenable now,” she says, though it comes across more like she’s wondering aloud, so she adds, “not that you need a beard or anything.”

“Yeah, no, it would be nice to get to keep it,” he says, gesturing to their surroundings, “especially when it gets cold like this.” His excitement is palpable as he cranes his neck slightly, as if to peek behind her. “Is she awake?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, please come in.” She steps aside, opening the door wider to let him through. “You got in late last night, right? How was your flight?”

“I did, and it was okay,” he says as he follows her down the foyer. “The customs line at Heathrow, though, a little less so.”

She looks over her shoulder to shoot him a look of sympathy, knowing full well what that headache is like. “She just got up from her morning nap about an hour ago,” she says as they walk into the living room, and she does not have to turn around to know that the faint gasp Steve lets out is in awe of the sight of Isabel pushing her little vacuum cleaner around before them. “Izzie, baby, look who’s here.”

Isabel looks up at the sound of her voice, freezing in place as her eyes go from her and then to Steve, who steps forward and crouches down, opening his arms as he reaches for her. “Hi, fig!”  

A smile grazes her lips when Isabel begins to scamper over at Steve’s greeting, but it quickly fades – as does Steve’s elated expression – when their daughter moves past him to hide behind her legs instead. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says automatically, bending down to collect Isabel, who buries her face into her neck, into her arms. She turns to Steve. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know-”

“No,” he says placatingly, and though he tries to blink away the hurt in his eyes, she catches it all the same. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“No, you were fine,” she says in her most reassuring voice. “She’s usually really friendly, but her quirks change every day now, it seems.” Steve nods at her, and she turns towards Isabel, dusting a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back. “It’s okay, fig. It’s just Daddy.” When Isabel looks up at her, she reaches into her pocket, showing her the phone. “We talk all the time, remember? And we read stories before bedtime…”  

Isabel looks at the phone in her hand and then at her, her big blue eyes skeptical. “Dada?”

“Yes, yes,” she says excitedly, eyeing Steve over Isabel’s head as she mouths, “talk to her.”

“Hi, Izzie,” Steve says, prompting Isabel to peek shyly at him. He smiles. “It’s me, Daddy. Remember? On the phone we said in two more sleeps we were gonna go on adventures?”

It’s with bated breath that she waits for Isabel’s reaction. The little girl purses her lips, and it’s almost by instinct that she braces herself for a meltdown, but instead, she finds herself nearly sighing in relief when Isabel leans forward and reaches for Steve. “Dada!”

“Yes, baby girl, Dada!” Steve says as he takes Isabel into his arms, standing and beaming from ear to ear when she wraps her arms around his neck. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” He kisses her cheek as he moves to settle her against his hip. “How’s my girl?”

“I play!” Isabel exclaims, her words promptly descending into gibberish as she goes on and on.

She watches as Steve nods along amusedly, barely containing his smile as he listens to Isabel talk. “Yeah, so…” she interjects, prompting Steve to look her way. “You’ll get about two, maybe three actual words from her before you have to use context clues and the Science of Deduction to figure out the rest.”

Steve laughs. “That’s about as much as I get from Tony, so I think I’ll manage.”

“Touché,” she says, chuckling when Isabel demands to be put down and stalks back to her mat. She points a thumb over her shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink before you guys leave? There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want some.”

Steve nods, and as they walk the short distance to her kitchen, she notices how he immediately positions himself by the counter overlooking the living room. “Still not a tea person, huh?”

Her expression sours as she begins to pour him a cup, eliciting a laugh from him. “I don’t think the British government will appreciate me becoming a menace to society.”

He smirks as he accepts the mug from her. “How’s work?”

“It’s… going,” she says, shrugging at the questioning look he sends her. “T’Challa, Nakia, and I finally got the company up and running both on paper and digital, but you know how it is when the truth ruffles some feathers.”

“Hmm,” he says, nodding in acknowledgement. “Same S-H-I-T, different continent, huh?”  

“She can’t hear you,” she says with an amused smile as she goes to rinse the pot in the sink. “But basically, yes. We ran a piece about a member of Parliament and some of his unsavory practices. Nothing but the truth there, but it’s not being received well, which is why Izzie and I couldn't make it back in time for Christmas.”

“I kinda figured the article would have them clutching their pearls.”

She turns to him, surprised. “You read The Pioneer?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I-”

The unmistakable clang of metal as it hits the ground interrupts him, followed immediately by Isabel’s proclamation of oh no, and that’s enough to send them both racing out of the kitchen and back into the living room to see Isabel standing over the now scattered tin of cookies that was sitting on the coffee table.

She turns to Steve, crossing her arms over her chest. “By the way, she likes knocking things over for S-H-I-T-S and giggles now, too.”

He cringes. “Any chance her vacuum cleaner actually works?”

It’s after the crumbs in her living room are sorted out and they both manage to convince their daughter to put and keep her shoes on that she stands outside her front door, watching as Steve swings the baby bag over his shoulder and picks Isabel up.

“Anything else about this one that I should know before we go?” Steve asks, jostling Isabel slightly in emphasis.

“Let’s see…” she says, “well, she hates socks with a ferocity. I did you a solid by getting them on, but if for any reason you have to take them off, know that you’re never going to get them on again. Also, nine times out of ten her answer to anything is no, so use your discretion when seeking her opinion.” Steve’s lips part, but before he can speak, she adds, “Oh, and she’s on a hunger strike. I’m told it’s just a phase, but hey, if you can get her to eat, more power to you.”  

Steve stands there, blinking once and then twice. “Okay...” he says, turning to Isabel. “Well, don’t you sound delightful.”

“No,” Isabel says with a shake of her head.

“You sure you don’t want to take the stroller?” she asks when Steve’s face falls at their daughter’s swift reply, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Nah, I think we’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.”

“Sounds good,” she says before waving at Isabel. “Bye, Iz! Have fun.”

“Bye!” Isabel says, waving back.

She waits for Steve and Isabel to walk down the block, and once they disappear from her vantage point, she returns inside, letting out a breath and feeling a lot more at ease than she did when she had woken up this morning. With any luck, maybe this didn’t have to be the debacle she thought it might be.

He should have taken the stroller.

The thought loops continuously in Steve’s mind as he lengthens his strides along the cobblestone paths of Kensington Gardens in an attempt to keep up with his daughter. “Izzie, slow down, babe!” he calls out, half in astonishment at seeing Isabel zoom past him with ease and half in anxiousness over the uneven grounds beneath their feet. The plea only spurns her on though, and he finds himself chuckling under his breath when she attempts to run. “Come here, you little daredevil!”  

Isabel dissolves into a fit of giggles as he collects her in his arms, lifting her to him to pepper her face with kisses. “Dada, no!”

“You keep this up, you’re gonna scrape your knees,” he tries to explain though he knows it’s an exercise in futility. If there’s anything he’s learned in the last couple of hours since they left Natasha’s flat, it’s that trying to reason with his eighteen-month-old is practically like talking to a wall.

“Walk,” Isabel insists, blinking up at him as if he hadn’t said a word. But then she smiles, the type that spans so wide it reaches her eyes and bares all her milky white teeth that his heart is helpless to do anything but melt in his chest.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, ignoring the teasing he can hear in his head from everyone in his life about how easily he’s charmed. “But you have to hold Daddy’s hand, okay?”

“‘kay,” Isabel says as he puts her back down on her feet, and he can’t help but grin when she offers up her hand for him to take.

By the time they make it to the Italian Gardens, Isabel tires enough that she does not protest when he picks her up to get a better view of the fountains, and as she points to every little thing that catches her attention and narrates her thoughts to him, he’s relieved by how quickly she’s readjusted to his presence. There was a part of him that had anticipated her skepticism of him this morning – for as much as they FaceTimed three times a week, he knows that it’s still not a substitute for her seeing him every day – though he has to admit that the way she had run to Natasha as if he were some stranger still stinged. Heartbreak is something he knows a little too well, but being rejected by his own daughter is one type he hopes he’ll never have to experience ever again.

Luckily for him, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards any longer. Isabel’s been nothing but receptive to him since they left, and for his part, he’s been all but entranced by every new facet of her personality that he’s discovered. She’s still the same precocious and affectionate little girl he remembers from six months ago, only now she’s more gregarious, and he can’t recall having laughed as much as he has since they’ve set out together this morning.  

“Look!” Isabel says, and as he turns his gaze towards the direction her finger is pointed in, he makes out one of the urns of the Tazza fountain.

“Do you know what that is?” he asks, observing Isabel’s reaction. Though it’s been a while since he’s been able to spend this much time with her, he realizes that despite her evolving personality, there’s a familiarity to her mannerisms and proclivities, and that’s because it’s so inherently Natasha – much like the way her nose is scrunched up now as she tries to answer his question. But there are also parts of himself that he’s found in her in the last couple of hours, such as the way her shoulders sag in defeat when she’s being reprimanded, and he finds some comfort in the reminder that regardless of the time they spend apart, they’ll always be intrinsically connected.

Isabel turns back to him, her eyes growing wide with excitement. “Do-phin?”

“Yes, baby girl!” he says, earning a squeal of delight from Isabel when he kisses her cheek. “You’re right, it’s a dolphin. Good job!” He turns away from the fountain, reaching behind him to fish his phone out of his pocket and opening it up to the camera. “Okay, now smile so we can send grandma a picture.”

“No!” Isabel says immediately, turning her face away.

He puts his phone down, chuckling. “You win some, you lose some.”

The next day, he pretends not to notice Natasha’s I-Told-You-So expression when he asks for the stroller before he and Isabel set out on another day of sightseeing. Yesterday had been a real eye opener for him in terms of getting to know his daughter’s quirks, and as he pushes Isabel through St. James Park, he revels in having been better prepared this time around. While he hadn’t succeeded in getting pictures of her facing the camera on their previous outing, he’s certain and feeling a touch triumphant at having taken enough today to satisfy both his family and his friends in their respective group chats. The trick, he learned, lies in phrasing the idea of taking the picture to Isabel in a form of a question instead of a command. It seemed silly, but as he’s learning, such is toddler logic. Plus, in the end, the elaborate charade of it all is worth it if it meant sticking it to Bucky for harping on his photography skills.

It’s when he and Isabel are walking out of a restaurant two days later that he hears his phone ring, and as he looks at the name flashing on the screen, he pushes the stroller to the side, turning it until Isabel is facing him. “It’s momma,” he mouths to Isabel, who looks up at him, before bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, we’re on our way back.”

“Hey,” Natasha says, and his eyebrows immediately furrow at the exasperated sigh that accompanies her greeting. “That’s actually why I’m calling. I ran into a problem at work and won’t be home for another hour or two and I know it’s almost her bedtime. Do you mind staying with her until I get back?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, just need to sort something out here sooner rather than later,” she says. “But are you sure you don’t mind? Because I can get-”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “I’ve got her. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, gratitude thick in her voice. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, but make yourself comfortable and help yourself to whatever’s in my kitchen if you want. But also maybe try not to judge what’s in it, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” he says with a chuckle, thankful that such is the rapport they’ve built since he arrived that she’s comfortable enough to joke around with him. “Oh, but before you go.” His eyes fall to Isabel, who’s busying herself with her new Beefeater doll, before he shakes his head. “Do you have a hair dryer I can borrow?”

A sigh slips from Natasha’s lips when she walks into her flat and haphazardly rids herself of her heels, shoving the pair off to the side as she makes her way down the foyer. The living room is empty when she enters, and the first thing she notices is how much neater the space looks – gone are the toys Isabel had scattered around, and for once, the throw pillows on her couch actually align properly. But when her gaze falls to the recliner on the left and then to the black coat draped over the back, all her questions are immediately answered.

“Steve?” she calls out. “You in here?” When she does not get a reply, she steps further into the room, suddenly becoming aware of the whirring sound coming from down the hall. She decides to follow it, and when it leads her to the open doorway of the bathroom, she can only chuckle as she peers inside. “So that’s what you needed the hair dryer for.”

Steve whips around at the sound of her voice, a startled expression on his face as he holds the dryer in one hand and his shirt in the other. “Oh hey,” he says, thumbing the dryer off. “Uh… sorry, I didn’t hear you come in over the noise.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, I’m a little disappointed,” she admits, smirking when his face twists in confusion. “When you asked to borrow my dryer, I was hoping it was because you gave Izzie a bath and decided to give her a fabulous blowout.”

“I did give her a bath,” he says, a tinge of indignance in his voice as he points to the tub. “But I also had to give my shirt a bath on the account of the little rascal throwing her spaghetti at me.” He shoots her a withering look when she throws her head back, cackling. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“Yeah, probably should have warned you about that,” she says, rolling her lips in an attempt to taper her laughter. “She asleep already?”

“Got her down about a half hour ago,” he says.

Though she already knew the answer, his confirmation still evokes disappointment in her. “I’m gonna go kiss her goodnight,” she tells him, turning and making her way towards the end of the hall. Isabel’s room is dimly lit by her night light, and carefully, she tiptoes towards the crib, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, she allows herself to just watch the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, letting the peaceful image wash away the fatigue from her day. Then with sigh and a final glance at her, she exits the room in search of a much needed nightcap.

The kitchen tiles are cold under her feet as she makes a beeline for the fridge, and as she pulls the door open to inspect its contents, she hears her name being called out. “Kitchen!” she yells back. The sound of footsteps coming her way is the only response, and she looks over her shoulder in time to see Steve appear by the frame, his shirt back on and its sleeves rolled past his elbows. “Want a beer?” she asks, only to silently admonish herself when she sees the way Steve’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you long enough, haven’t I? You probably have things to do-”

“No,” he interrupts, clearing his throat as he straightens his stance. “A beer would be nice, actually.”

She smiles. “Stella still good with you?” When he nods, she turns back to the fridge, grabbing two bottles before using her foot to shut the door. She twists off the caps before handing the other bottle to him, and when he mutters a thank you, she nods towards her living room.

“So let me get this straight…” she hears him say as she plops down on the couch and he takes a seat on the recliner. “You’re still a coffee addict but no longer a vodka fiend?” He clicks his tongue. “Gotta be honest, I always thought that if one had to go, it would be the coffee.”

“First of all,” she says, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “I would never give up either. But gun to my head, it would be coffee, yes.” She lifts her bottle up as if to inspect it. “Vodka is still my poison of choice. I just haven’t had the time to replenish.”

“Bad day?” he asks as she takes a long swig from her bottle.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she groans, placing her bottle down to dig the heels of her hands into her eyes.  

A beat passes before she hears him ask, “Wanna talk about it?”

Her eyes blink open in surprise, and she turns to look at him. “You really want to hear about work stuff?”

“Only if you want to talk about it,” he says with a shrug.

For a second, she can only sit there, blinking as she contemplates his offer. In the last few days since he arrived, they’ve been cordial enough with one another that asking him to stay with Isabel as she sorted out some pressing issues at work tonight didn’t feel like that big of an imposition. Now here she is, commandeering more of his time by inviting him to have a beer with her that, surely, it would be rude of her to unload on him about her harrowing workday, too. But as she turns back to him, the earnestness of his expression convinces her to throw caution to the wind. She sighs, sinking further into her seat. “It’s just a lot of… bullshit,” she says, leaning her elbow on the arm rest as they both laugh at her word choice. “The member of Parliament I was talking about a few days ago? This morning he threatened to sue us for defamation.” Concern paints his features at her words, but she’s quick to wave it off. “We already talked to legal about it. It’s all a power play. With the amount of evidence we have to back up our claims, he does not have a case.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking up at the ceiling. “Once upon a time, I would have found intimidation tactics like this a fun challenge... In fact, I lived for these hurdles. I liked knowing my work was keeping people like him up at night, because it meant I was hitting at the truth. But nowadays?” She shrugs, looking back at him. “I guess the exhaustion just sinks down to the bone a little more… and it’s not that I don’t love my job, I do. Becoming editor-in-chief has always been on my career bucket list and I know I’m very fortunate to be where I am today. It’s just that checking every little thing off of that list isn’t everything to me anymore.” She nods towards the hallway. “She is.”

“No, I totally get it,” he says, and for the first time in a while, she feels relief wash over her at the certainty that fills his eyes. “I didn’t know that being a curator was something I wanted to do until Tony and Pepper approached me about it. Discovering all these new artists has been great-”

“And the gift baskets too, I’m sure,” she adds, smirking at the questioning look that crosses his face. “Darcy catches me up on the office gossip. She said you get a lot of loot from people vying to interview you.”

“I leave whatever I get in the breakroom and let them fight over it,” he explains, smiling as she chuckles. “But yeah, the feeling of professional accomplishment I’ve had these last couple of years? Doesn’t even come close to how it felt when Izzie looked up at me tonight as I was putting her to bed and told me, unprompted, that she loved me.”  

“I lah you,” she says, making them both chuckle as she mimics Isabel’s voice. “Kinda knocks you off your feet a little, huh?” He nods, to which she smiles. “Anyway, enough talking about work and our lives’ purpose for one night. What did you two get into today?”

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. “I thought she might like to see horse drawn carriages like in her bedtime stories, so we went to the Royal Mews. I think she really enjoyed it. Well, save for the little meltdown she had when I wouldn’t let her pet the” – he puts out his free hand, making air quotations with his index and middle fingers – “ponies.”

She scoffs, handing him back his phone. “If it was just a little meltdown, consider yourself lucky. She once face-planted on the floor of a Tesco because I wouldn’t let her carry the carton of eggs while we shopped.”

“Toddlers, huh?” he says with a shake of his head.

“They’re cute for a reason,” she concurs. “What about tomorrow?”

“We were going to see Big Ben, but then I learned that it’s boarded up,” he says, his gaze falling to the watch on his wrist. “Oh, wow. Speaking of tomorrow, though, I have to work a little in the morning before I come get her, so I should probably get going.” When she nods in acknowledgement, he stands, reaching for his coat. “But anyway, we might just do the aquarium instead. That place any good?”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never been.”

“You’ve never been to the aquarium?” he asks incredulously, his eyes widening when she shakes her head no. “Have you at least gone to other sites? Like the Tower?”

“I’ve seen it. It’s on my bus route to work.”

“Natasha,” he says in equal parts amusement and admonishment.

“I’ve been busy,” she argues. “And taking a not even two-year-old to the Tower of London where they keep all the shiny Crown Jewels that she’s not allowed to touch?” She scoffs. “I’m not a glutton for punishment, Steve.”

“They’re encased in glass boxes,” he reasons, to which she rolls her eyes before turning to straighten the throw pillows on the couch. There’s a pause, and just when she assumes that he’s chosen to let the argument go, he sighs. “You should come with us.”

“What?” she asks, turning to him, pillow still in hand. “Steve, I can’t-”

“You got plans?” he challenges.

“Not for a few days, no, but I do have mounds of laundry to do,” she says, scoffing when he crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, she might be small, but she goes through a lot of clothes and they’re a pain to fold.”

“You can do laundry when you get back,” he dismisses. “Come on, Nat. You’re the one that made fun of me for not having been to The Met before.”

“That’s not the same. You had been living in Manhattan for years at that point,” she says before gesturing around her flat. “Look, I know you couldn’t help yourself and tidied up this living room, you weirdo. But trust me when I say there’s more to clean!” When his knowing gaze does not let up, she scoffs. And maybe it’s the catharsis from having shared her qualms about work with the only person who truly understands her predicament, or the way they’d seamlessly fallen into conversation as if it hadn’t been ages since they last sat back and had a beer together, but either way, she finds her determination wavering. With a sigh, she puts the pillow back down on the couch. “Fine, okay. Okay. I’ll go.”

“Okay,” he says, suddenly looking triumphant. As he begins to make his way towards the door, she follows him, raising a brow in question when he puts a hand on the knob only to turn back to her. He shrugs. “I know the consequences of your work are exhausting, but for what it’s worth… I think we’re all pretty lucky to have you fighting to get the truth out there.”

Despite how tired she feels, her lips turn up in a smile. “Thank you,” she says with a nod of her head. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Nat.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[arigatouiris]

head over heels // b.b — [07]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [Female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; angst [a lot of it]; mentions of drugs and drug abuse and explicit sexual references; mentions of anxiety, depressive thoughts, suicide, post-traumatic stress; fluff [in later chapters]

Follows events after Endgame, but Tony, Natasha, Steve, Loki are alive in this universe.

Word count: 1818

Author’s Note: It’s been long, I know. I have had an incredibly hard time in life right now. There’s so much going on, and each day is suffocating. I couldn’t do simple tasks well without affecting my mental health so drastically. And I’m sorry I didn’t update for so long. I’m also sorry about the small length of the chapter.

Those who want to be on the tag-list, do send me an ask~

07. love

✿

Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes. 

(y/n). 

(y/n) was in his apartment, especially during the worst phase of his life. He couldn’t even call it ‘life’ per say, considering how many lives could have been fit in one of his. He watched as she moved around, looking around curiously, not smelling even a whiff of judgement from her. His heart warmed at the sight, but it was also pounding with fear.

    “(y/n)... How did you…?”

She turned to look at him and shot him a kind smile. Bucky felt his heart rate escalate.

    “Will you help me?”

    “Help you?”

She nodded cutely; Bucky wouldn’t argue, everything she did was cute.

    “Help me clean this place up.”

His moral immediately fell. It was almost as if she could see it in his eyes, when the spark was almost leaving it. Her smile didn’t fade, but diminished slightly, as she walked over to him. She stood right in front of him and looked up at him, her arms by her side. She slowly reached forward and held Bucky’s hands in hers, something he wouldn’t have allowed to happen if it was anyone other than her.

    “I know what it’s like to be here,” she said, “And I know what it’s like to get out,”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

    “Let me help you, Bucky. That’s all I ask.”

And he felt it. Right then, Bucky Barnes fought the hardest battle he ever had to fight. Bucky Barnes fought the urge to hold her, to breathe into her hair, to thank her repeatedly for seeing a person in him, and to feel the softness of her skin, and collapse into her. His fear right then didn’t make sense, and if she wanted to help him, coming this far, then he would let her.

The two of them began with the living room. There were piles of beer bottles stocked in the side, the windows covered with a dark colored curtain. Turning to Bucky, (y/n) blinked before tilting her head a bit.

    “Do you have a large bag I can use to take these curtains to the wash?”

Bucky nodded before heading into his room to look for the bag. He was sure he had thrown nothing away ever since moving in, and the bag must be stocked somewhere. By the time he found it and headed back to the living room, his eyes widened.

The curtains were down and the windows shone light into his living room. Bucky stood by the door of his bedroom and glanced at the dirty floor before him, the dusty window managed to shed light into a room that had not seen enough of it. By the window stood (y/n), with a large grin on her face.

    “See! Makes so much difference when you just let some light get in here.”

Bucky could not believe how uplifted he felt with her just standing there. When the window shone light into his living room, (y/n) had managed to reach his heart. It was inevitable. He watched as she took the bags from him and stuffed the curtains inside. To her, it didn’t matter that the place was dusty and not clean, it didn’t matter that Bucky was living in a place like this, all that mattered was how much light she could shed in this house—and in his eyes.

Together, they cleared the living room in forty minutes. (y/n) connected the vacuum cleaner in as Bucky went down to throw the large bags of trash. Curtains were removed from every room, ready to be taken to the laundromat.

He could hear her hum while she cleaned. He watched her, as she picked up pizza box after pizza box, a soft smile on her face, humming a song he barely knew. His eyes filled with tears as he watched her and suddenly—he was breathless.

The sobs, they came like lightning. Bucky didn’t want to make a single sound, but it was hard not to. He broke down, a hand pressed to his mouth, crying his heart out. (y/n) blinked before noticing him there, her eyes softening. She saw herself in him, that was for sure, but it was also very different. He wasn’t her, and she wasn’t him, there was no way she could compare when she didn’t know his story.

She dropped the boxes into the other bag, and headed over to Bucky. She stood inches away from him and placed a hand on the back of his head. Bucky looked at her with wide eyes before squinting a bit, trying to figure out what she was trying to do. She pressed the back of his head onto her shoulder, and her other arm wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Bucky’s eyes were wide the entire time after she had hugged him, and when he felt her hand patted his back, he didn’t know until then that crying could feel that good.

She held him as he cried about killing every single person he had ever been forced to kill; he cried about killing Stark’s parents; he cried about forgetting Steve; he cried about having survived each time he was sent on a mission. He had tried to end his life several times before, and he cried about living each time.

    “I’m right here, Buck.” She whispered, shutting her eyes.

    “You shouldn’t be… You deserve so much better.”

Pulling back, she stared into his eyes, and saw nothing but an endless depth in them. He was so sad, it was unrecognizable.

    “I get to choose what I deserve, Bucky,” She whispered, smiling sadly. “And I want to do this.”

He wanted to kiss her. But he knew he would only be doing it in a spur of the moment. They looked into each other’s eyes some more, before she leaned in and kissed his cheek, forcing him to shut his eyes. A second later, her hand lifted his and wrapped it around herself.

    “Whenever you want a hug, just come over and ask, okay? I’ll hold you.”

Her voice was so gentle, he wasn’t used to it. He wrapped his hands around (y/n), and pressed his lips to her shoulder, shutting his eyes and breathing into her hair. He had wanted this for so long, he wanted to hold her, feel her, and just stay this way—it was as if everything he had ever lived through was now suddenly leaving him. It was time for his redemption’s end.

Two hours later, Bucky’s home was unrecognizable. Bucky was surprised to see how quickly it could have been cleaned, light coming everywhere, dust no more. His room looked different, the blankets were done, his bed looked clean and it suddenly smelled nice too.

It smelled like her.

    “(y/n), I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

    “Let me draw those pictures on your cup.” She said, winking.

Bucky chuckled before rolling his eyes. She walked over to him and held his hand, before twirling on the ground. He spun his hand above her, as if she were dancing, and he chuckled.

    “Do you want me to make you some coffee?” She asked, tilting her head.

    “There is nothing edible in this house, (y/n).” Bucky said, ashamedly.

Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands together, “Then let’s go grocery shopping! I love nothing more than grocery shopping.”

Bucky raised both his eyebrows and laughed, “Grocery shopping?”

She nodded before replying, “I’m like a dog and walks when it comes to grocery shopping, Buck.”

Laughing, he nodded before grabbing his jacket. As he grabbed his coat, a small packet fell outside of it, to the ground. (y/n)’s eyes fell on the tiny packet with some white colored stuff before crouching down and picking it up.

    “What’s this?” She asked, inspecting it.

Bucky’s eyes widened as soon as he saw her holding it. He snatched it from her grasp and cleared his throat, unaware of what she was thinking and unaware of what he could tell her.

    “Bucky, you don’t need any of that anymore.” She said, her voice low.

He didn’t say a word.

    “You don’t know my story, doll.” He said, clenching his cheeks.

A moment later, she touched his hand. The metal one. His eyes were wide when he noticed her examine it. He was wearing gloves, so she couldn’t see the metal. She played with his hand, before looking up at him.

    “I know this arm’s metal,” She said, “I know that your heart is cold.”

    “I don’t have a heart no more, doll. Hearts don’t stay alive this long.”

    “That’s a lie,” She hummed before pressing her lips to the back of his metal hand, “I can feel your heart, Buck.”

He felt like he was out of breath. His mind kept repeating one sentence over and over and over again, and he wondered if he was even good enough to be standing in the same room as her.

    “Take me grocery shopping?”

Bucky stared at their interlocked hands and smiled once. He’d take her anywhere she wanted to go.

✿

As the two of them walked next to each other, Bucky kept thinking of nothing but how she had magically turned up at his house.

    “Who sent you?”

She giggled at his question, “Steve told me to,”

Bucky felt his heart collapse. It wasn’t her to had approached Steve. Perhaps, she didn’t want to be here. Maybe, she was just faking it. Maybe—

She touched his hand and interlocked their fingers. Bucky froze.

    “And I am so glad that he asked me to do this.”

She leaned closer to him and smiled, shooting Bucky’s heart to the skies. As soon as they reached the supermarket, Bucky saw another side of her. A large smile covered her features and she pressed her palms together before looking at Bucky with a cheeky grin.

    “Go for it.” He said, gesturing with his hands.

She squealed out of happiness and rushed inside with the trolley, as Bucky followed. He watched as she bought milk, eggs, meat, and other essentials, vegetables—everything that a typical home can have, and all Bucky looked at was a future he believed he could one day have.

He stopped in his movements. He had never been able to think of a future until she showed up at his doorstep. He looked at her now, her back turned to him, and wondered. He saw her smiling and reading the tags at the back of a cereal box and a moment later,

    “Do you like fruit loops?” She asked, turning to him.

His heart skyrocketed and he knew.

    “I love them.” He said, raspily, talking about something else entirely.

I love her, he thought, afraid. Because there was only one thing in the world that now scared Bucky. That if he could love someone, and they couldn’t do the same. 

✿

series taglist:

@miamua-posts  @yourwonderbelle @kissingg-incars @tanya-diggory @s-0-ldat @iheartsebastianstan @taliarosej00 @coraz0ndcristal @vlogsquadbss @azriels-forgotten-shadow @gogoca @undiadeestos @justtrynagetthroughlife @sakurabl0ss0m @twshood @mercurybarnes @elsie2018

[tweetadvise]

Purple Squirrels, Horses, and SEO Talent

The very first time I listened to the expression "purple squirrels" I believed they resembled the purple "steed of a different shade" from The Wizard of OZ, charming, dream creatures. Then I discovered that not just is the term purple squirrel made use of by those in the recruiting field to represent a candidate whose background, education, and also experience flawlessly match an extremely complicated position, however that there have actually been reported discoveries of real purple squirrels in both the US and also the UK.

Hopefully, this bodes well for recruiters searching for that elusive SEO or digital advertising and marketing ability. Incorporated with Paid Look or SEM, Search Engine Optimization is the 5th hottest skill of 2014 baseding upon LinkedIn. Locating that outstanding person, either expert or staff member, is no easy task. And matching the appropriate prospect to the placement is as much art as science. A blog site qualified "Don't Employ the Perfect Candidate" appeared in The Harvard Business Review where Dr. John Sullivan, worldwide called a HR believed leader, says that "There is no a lot more valuable recruit compared to a "Purple Squirrel." Before sorting everything out, let's take a look at a few trends that show why search engine optimization is so important.

Showrooming, Webrooming, as well as "All over Business"

With the rise of mobile tools, customers are everywhere and also they expect business to be able to reach them as well as understand their needs, whether in-store, online at a desktop computer, or on a mobile gadget. Ecommerce, or digital commerce, is rapidly ending up being realised as "everywhere trade."

Interactions, a revered global promotional enterprise, reports that prior to getting products in-store, 88 percent of shoppers will certainly carry out research study online, a method realised as "webrooming" (additionally called "kicking the tires" in the analog world) and that prior to purchasing online, 76 percent of shoppers research study in-store to obtain a real-world perspective on a prospective purchase, known as "showrooming." Much depends on the product itself whether more consumers will acquire in-store or on-line. For instance, for larger things such as appliances, 75 percent of customers prefer to purchase in-store, whereas for computer systems, customers are nearly evenly split, with 49 percent stating they acquire online, as well as 51 percent making their purchase in-store.

Decoding your clients' inclinations as well as reaching them where they are needs exceptional analytics, both in the tools utilized as well as the people that use them. Allow's currently consider some of one of the most important top qualities a person working in the area of SEO must possess.

Qualities of a Search Engine Optimization Worker or Consultant

To be effective in the area of Search Engine Optimization, an individual has to be innately curious as well as not just a trouble solver, yet someone who just cannot transform his or her back on an issue until a solution, or numerous competing yet valid solutions, is identified. A SEO talent needs to be extremely logical, yet understand that data does not exist in a vacuum cleaner, yet is part of the larger tale of a company and also its product and services. Being a lifelong student, as soon as thought unusual, is essential for everyone in the 21st century and is specifically so for those in Search Engine Optimization since the adjustments to this area happen weekly.

The ability to assume logically along with creatively is essential, in addition to the ability to interact not only with colleagues, but to be able to discuss intricate technological ideas to nontechnical individuals. Most notably, perhaps, is passion to succeed, except the sake of ego, yet recognizing that personal success in this field is completely connected to the contributions they is making to stakeholders for the customer or employer.

With such a tough listing of diverse qualities, it's no marvel that such people are rare and also considered a vital possession to any enterprise.

Hiring an SEO as a Consultant

While, certainly, every organization is trying to find optimization in a multichannel environment, each will certainly make an individual choice whether to employ a consulting company versus internal workers. Right here are a couple of suggestions when employing a consultant.

While Search Engine Optimization is extremely technical, it is crucial for you to obtain some fundamental knowledge in order for you to both present inquiries to your expert in addition to evaluate the answers the consultant provides. This is important to avoid the threat that you may either think things are going well when they are not, or just as negatively impactful, you could believe points are going badly when actually your professional is doing a fantastic job.

A good place to begin your SEO education and learning is to examine the web designer guidelines that are released by the major online search engine, Google, Yahoo, and also Bing.

This is very important because there are ethical as well as underhanded methods, and also you will intend to make sure that your expert complies with the guidelines since unethical practices will certainly backfire on your business.

Hiring an SEO as an Employee

Depending after the dimension of an organization, there might be a requirement for a range of Search engine optimizations, from beginning to senior degree, or there may be only one placement. Naturally, every company wants to hire the very best candidate and also Dr. John Sullivan aims to the example of Tony Fadell, hired away from Philips by Apple, who took place to enable them "to dominate and make billions in a product town (the iPod) where they had little proficiency before hiring him."

The Harvard Business Review, nonetheless, explains that the purple squirrel is "virtually mythical in nature," as well as leaving a task position unfilled while spending sources trying to find a remarkable individual that might never ever appear could negatively influence an organization in many various other methods. Sullivan does acknowledge that recruiting standards could forget remarkable people, as significantly happened to Steve Jobs, which HP did not hire due to the fact that he did not have an university level. The truth is that there are different courses to success as well as in Search Engine Optimization in particular, where everybody is self-taught as well as has originates from another field, there need to not be a prejudice for or against formal education and learning in the field.

An business culture that supports it ought to be able to transform a capable prospect into a remarkable staff member with creating an atmosphere where the talented person can grow. Understanding that your very carefully nurtured ability might be poached, being a satisfying company for which to work is the most effective retention policy.

Every circumstance is one-of-a-kind. Please discuss your experience, whether you were planning to fill, or to find that perfect profession position.